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| Thread: The Cycles of Time (RPG) |  This thread is pages long: 1 2 · «PREV |
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted January 07, 2009 06:24 PM |
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In the valley of the microorganism—now long abandoned by the hut-dwellers—life is continuing.
Having spread so far, the microorganism seems content to stop; the valley is walled on two sides by mountain, with higher, drier ground at the entrances preventing fog banks from drifting out. The climate is such that the living carriers of the organism do not migrate, preventing the rest of the world from falling victim to the tiny life form.
In the valley, the amphibian population has been virtually eradicated, so vicious is the microorganism—only those individuals unfortunate enough to wander in from the outside world now succumb. With the amphibians gone, the scaled creatures—mostly fish and inch-long lizard-like creatures—have taken over with the disappearance of their competition and main predators. The birds have shifted their diet to the latter two groups to compensate.
The microorganism has adapted too. With most of its prey gone, it has formed a shell in which it can hibernate until a suitable host is found. This casing is resistant to extreme changes in environment, allowing the organism to pass from tepid swamp water through the violently acidic stomach acid of the local avians and back out again without coming to harm, as well as protecting it from most temperature changes.
The other creatures in the valley have remained unharmed by the organism for the time being; the birds retain their status as carriers, and the fish and reptiles live largely unaffected. There is even a particular creature, neither reptile nor fish, that has formed a symbiotic relationship with it, with the microorganism assisting its digestive system.
Outside the valley, the hut-dwellers are becoming more advanced. As they spawn in large clutches, and have learned to protect their eggs from most of the major predators, their population is exploding. In addition their language is fast-evolving in complexity, they have begun to take the first steps into the world of culture, and they’ve since begun to make serious use of tools…
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Oscarius
Famous Hero
*sleepy*
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posted January 07, 2009 08:01 PM |
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It took six months.
Six months of for the entity to reproduce. And kill all plants in the planet's sea.
Then it made it's way to the lands.
Giant blobs of the "things" now started to huddle together at the coastline. And now the shape of the things could be seen.
With a lower-body aching to the shape of a eel, while the upper body is quite simply a giant mouth with different shaped fangs and teeth. It also have a few claw-like growths around shattered over it's head. Used to scoop all edible substances into the throat.
Now the plague will continue on land, in the short time it takes for the things to evolve something capable of bringing them up on the surface of the world...in time the now mighty woods will be felled and then, who knows what will happen.
At that time, the minor creatures now have to feed on each other to survive, as the plant-life will take years to get back to it's former glory. And years, on a quick-evolving planet like this, is a very long time......
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Need moar avatars!
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enamelity
Known Hero
You Misunderestimated Me
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posted January 08, 2009 12:10 AM |
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The North
In direct contrast to the uninvitingly cold South, Ssethri's northern continent is mildly warm, forested, and full of life. While northern trees are not nearly as grand or tall as the mythical sap-trees of old, and are actually made of wood rather than the sap-trees' strange metallic substance, they are adequate homes for squirrels. The new trees lack sap, but small prey animals abound and are easily caught by alert squirrels. In addition, the new trees are of a brownish-orange color, which the squirrels have evolved to match (there is significantly more color variation among the squirrels than there once was; with the lack of natural predators, even abnormally-colored squirrels who can't camouflage themselves have a chance of finding a mate). Squirrel religion has evolved as well: the squirrels say they once inhabited a utopian paradise (the sap-tree forests), but the trees transcended the world itself and left (the ice age), so the squirrels migrated north and found a new land to thrive in. The sap-trees cannot watch over the squirrels anymore, but if the squirrels as a race remain wise and good, they may eventually become beings similar to sap-trees themselves and transcend the world (reaching the place where the sap-trees are). Interestingly enough, the squirrels see absolutely no connection between the sap-trees and the new trees they now inhabit.
Squirrel civilization in the north has flourished. Art (in the form of detailed psychic impressions equivalent to something between books and movies) has become extremely advanced, as has philosophy (squirrel religion is not nearly as restrictive or comprehensive as Earth religions, allowing for much more individual interpretation). Though descendants of the very first northern squirrel settlements take pride in their ancestry, there is no prejudice or racism. Police do not exist either, as criminally-minded individuals will be shunned by the community, and this is generally punishment enough in group-oriented squirrel society. The land is divided into numerous territories, each of which elects a councilman who represents it in the council (which votes on all major changes to the civilization). However, government is extremely light and largely unnecessary - the squirrels see no point in violence or greed.
The South
In the south, squirrels must be powerful and strong if they expect to survive the cold and the strange monstrous things that it created. Unlike the northern realm, here natural selection still plays a very important role in determining who makes the next generation. Southern society is also very close-knit, each squirrel having fought side-by-side with many others, each having seen friends killed in battle. The population, naturally, is lower, and much less land is actually inhabited. According to their religion, the squirrels once lived in a utopian paradise (the time of the sap-trees), perfect and sheltered but surrounded on all sides by evil the squirrels knew nothing about. The squirrels' protectors and guardians, the sap-trees, gradually grew arrogant and attempted to gain control and mastery of the evil around them. By letting this corruption into their hearts, the sap-trees let the power of the evil lands into the squirrels' utopia, and destroyed themselves in the process. The trees are now dead, and the squirrels must learn to survive in a desolate that wants them dead, too. But survive they do, using certain new inventions unheard-of in the north: clothes - to protect against the cold - and guns (with blades, and with black powder discovered under the ground) to fend off the monsters of the deep snow. Crime is nonexistant, as each squirrel knows that they must all work together to survive. The nation is run by the most heroic and legendary warriors, who are known for their heroism and prowess throughout the land - ensuring that no village rebels.
Without gods causing every natural phenomenon that appears, the squirrels accept that every force in nature has a logical explanation, so scientists exist, and their knowledge of physics is quite high (scientists were disliked by other squirrels due too their lack of fighting ability, but this changed after a scientist discovered the usefulness of black powder).
Southern squirrels retain a shred of the psychic power they once temporarily wielded. They almost instinctually sense an enemy's next move in melee combat, and so are excellent at evading attacks, and they can use their powers to provide a slight physical power increase (also useful in melee combat). They believe that these powers were the last gifts of the still-pure sap-trees, who died to provide the squirrels with this power hoping it would let the squirrels survive. They see no point in praying to the pure sap-trees or thanking them, since they accept that the trees are dead and gone.
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Mamgaeater
Legendary Hero
Shroud, Flying, Trample, Haste
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posted January 08, 2009 12:56 AM |
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The mossy ledges and rolling canyons of Vos were the ideal climate for
the Garedans. Garedans were unique to Vos's Mouth area. They are smal
and brutish creatures with just enough sentience to understand war.
These herbivores are extremely aggressive and tear through legions of
plant fibers. Vos was their perfect home. Starving was an
impossibility to them as they had near limitless food. on the other end of the spectrum the large but gentle Kurasks lived just south of the mouth area of vos. They were reluctant carnivores very intelligent and sympathetic to the feelings of others. they didn't want to kill but they had to. As the two species clashed, the overly aggressive Garedans and the passive Kurasks, It was clear that they could never be friends. although herbivores the Garedans didn't mind killing a couple dozen creatures just for the heck of it. However the Kurasks unhappily munched on the Garedans, careful to chew as to bring the poor little Garedan lives to a quick and somewhat painful close. The kurasks were quite intelligent. their societies were simplistic at best. Muddy hovels dotted their settlements and language was developing. The Garedans on the other hand were incapable of forming a society preferring to submit to the permanent adrenaline rush that made them dangerous. It is a marvel that these creatures are alive at all...
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Protection From Everything.
dota
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted January 11, 2009 06:12 AM |
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Tribe populations were exploding. With their increased organization, better weaponry, and egg husbandry techniques arising from the use of clay jugs in place of open marsh water, there were no serious threats available—even the loangjah, a twelve foot alligator-like creature with only two legs and a long, fin-like tail that had once been their primary predator, could now only threaten lone individuals, and then only until the local tribe sets out to kill the creature. And with the increasing sophistication in their language coupling with more contact between tribes, the hut-dwellers have even named their species—predator and prey had their places, but a special form of interaction was reserved for the ones the hut-dwellers referred to as, “those who are us”.
It is in this period of explosive growth that Wehtai, an adolescent male from the tribe of Wahtir, comes into play.
The tribal mehdahsein and other elders for Wahtir were aware of the growing tension between their tribe and those nearest—arguments over hunting grounds were becoming more and more hostile as the size of all tribes concerned continued to grow. But Frahg, the mehdahsein for Wahtir, currently had a more immediate problem.
A problem in the form of a foolish young boy.
“But Elder,” argued Wehtai, “No one has gone there for years, there will be prey for the taking!”
Frahg sighed, and reminded himself that Wehtai was young, and not yet aware of how the world worked. He would mellow out when he grew older, the elder consoled himself.
“No,” the elder repeated patiently, “the valley has been forbidden since my grandsire’s grandsire was in the egg, and it will remain so after your grandspawns’ grandspawn are dead. The valley of Nottugo is forbidden, and will always be forbidden; death lurks there.”
“How can you know if you’ve never been there?” Wehtai demanded—he probably meant to sound defiant, but to the elder, he only seemed petulant.
“The old tales tell us this,” the elder answered patiently. But Wehtai only assumed he was being dismissed out-of-hand.
“Tales,” he almost sneered—and restrained himself only half as well as he thought. “No one has been there in generations, I’ll bet even the loangjah are slow and fat.”
“No!” mehdahsein Frahg repeated emphatically. He might have—should have—continued to try to change the adolescent’s mind, but the night was chilly, and he was old and tired. “You will not go to the valley, and that is my final word.”
Wehtai could only watch the elder retreat into his hut with frustration. The oldling was feeble, and so used to feebleness he had forgotten those around him were not so feeble. He made a noise to himself that was a typical display of irritation in his species and set off to his own hut to retrieve his hunting gear. He was certain if he returned in a few days with a net full of food and no spear-marks from the neighboring tribes, the elder would re-think his pronouncement. Sure of himself, he set off into the night-dark swamps into the valley of Nottugo.
He was still completely sure of himself when the first outriders of the microorganism found their way into his bloodstream.
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winterfate
Supreme Hero
Water-marked Champion!
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posted January 17, 2009 05:06 AM |
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Hilaral looked at the computer for what seemed to be the trillionth time, and suddenly declared:
"Let's go."
Amanda, the sentient computer, asked:
"Pardon?"
Hilaral then smiled and said:
"Let's leave this hunk of glacial rock."
The computer started up an ancient protocol, as the castle ship started to shake. Hilaral took a knee and commented:
"I had forgotten how bumpy this process can be."
For what seemed like countless hours, the castle shaked and swerved, until finally it freed itself from the glacial earth that had been its home for the past 2 million years.
After leaving the planet, Amanda asks:
"Destination?"
Hilaral smiles and says, simply:
"Terra. If I know my history well, or at least as well as can be known with this hyper-evolution, it should be around that time again..."
Amanda inquires:
"Do you think you'll be able to convince them this Cycle?"
Hilaral shrugs and answers:
"Maybe, maybe not. But, I have to try. Better than twiddling my thumbs over at Omega III."
So off they went to Terra.
((Oh my, who could they be talking about?  ))
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If you supposedly care about someone, then don't push them out of your life. Acting like you're not doing it doesn't exempt you from what I just said. - Winterfate
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted January 17, 2009 05:16 AM |
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Wehtai returned a span of days later, staggering badly despite the prey-net he carried being barely a third full. He was pale, his skin wrinkled and dry-seeming even for a mountain native, and he collapsed in the midst of the collection of mud huts that served as a town halfway to his own hut.
He was quickly picked up by a few of the adults and ushered into a hut to be cared for, and mehdahsein Frahg was summoned. The elder was in high distress at the sight of the sick adolescent, now cursing himself for not trying harder to stop the boy. As day turned to night, Wehtai only grew worse, his skin wrinkling and sweating as his blood was destroyed and the other fluids were expelled in his body’s failed attempts to maintain equal fluid levels throughout itself. By morning, he was blind and delirious, and by the next sunset he was dead.
And it did not end. Within days of his arrival, all but a few of the tribe began to succumb in turn—the microorganism had strengthened during its period of isolation due to lack of suitable hosts, and as they had lost contact with it completely the who-are-us had lost their resistance. Mehdahsein Frahg was among the first to die after the adolescent whose departure he had failed to stop, and with the loss of their dispenser of healing it seemed many others in the tribe were not far behind…
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winterfate
Supreme Hero
Water-marked Champion!
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posted January 26, 2009 03:50 AM |
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Hilaral monitored the castle ship for signs of malfunctions. However, with Amanda, this would not be a problem. She was well equipped to handle any problems that could arise from hyperspace travel.
The 100 light year journey to Terra took one week.
Hilaral wasn't worried about the travel time. After all, what was one week to someone who had lived an eternity already? No, what worried this demigod was returning home...
Yes. Home.
Hilaral was the son of Lumoi and an Atlantean. So, he returned to his people, to try to convince them to fight for what was Good in the universe.
The castle ship landed near Easter Island. The Atlanteans had decided to make their home near the magnetic center of the world. This was a time of great innovation on Terra. While the rest of the world struggled to advance, the Atlanteans were busy figuring out ways to travel into space. Astronomers are philosophers they were.
Hilaral walked up to one of the giant stone faces that dotted the landscape on the island and took out a talisman from his pocket. The talisman started glowing blue as the stone face started to shake. A beam of red light shot out from the face's eyes, revealing the city of Atlantis behind Hilaral.
Hilaral walked through the front gates of the city, unsure of what to expect this Cycle. Would history repeat itself? He was aiming to find out...
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If you supposedly care about someone, then don't push them out of your life. Acting like you're not doing it doesn't exempt you from what I just said. - Winterfate
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted January 29, 2009 02:30 AM |
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Time has passed.
The tribe of Wahtir has ceased to exist; everyone, from the mehdahsein to the smallest egg, was wiped out by the microorganism. And it did not end there: not long after the last of Wahtir passed out of life, hunters from one of the neighboring tribes down in the swamps passed through looking for their rivals. They carried the microorganism back to their villages, and with no other geological irregularities to keep the water-borne life form contained it spread and multiplied.
History will never remember Wehtai’s name, but it is he who triggered the biggest plague ever to strike the murky swamp-world.
The symptoms are innocuous at first, but compound rapidly. Eye and throat soreness—perhaps a bit of hoarseness—are its first forerunners, followed by sweating that only worsens as the body of the infected fights to keep its moisture levels balanced. Dehydration and loss of appetite sets in quickly, bringing with it horrible headaches and delirium. Eventually even the eyes shrivel and the skin pulls away from the victim’s tiny rasping teeth, hastening the dehydration if not treated and causing the sick to go blind.
It is usually around this point that death occurs.
Immersing the sick in water has proved to be a double-edged sword: on the one hand, it slows the dehydration. On the other, the water of the sick becomes a breeding ground for the microorganism, and as result the who-are-us are learning disinfection techniques the hard way. The impact on the population of amphibianoids has been so great that the who-are-us have even given the microorganism its first name: Draipuul.
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winterfate
Supreme Hero
Water-marked Champion!
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posted February 07, 2009 01:25 AM |
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Hilaral walked through the front gates, hesitant.
As he reached the Council building (which curiously enough was at the same exact location as it was last Cycle), he walked inside. The assortment of red haired, fair skinned Atlanteans looked towards the entrance. The eldest among them, an elderly man with a blue robe, asked:
"How did you enter this place, foreigner?"
Hilaral smiled slightly and produced the amulet from his pocket and held it up. The elders gasped and whispered amongst themselves. A young elder stands up this time and asks:
"How did you acquire that amulet?"
Hilaral answered:
"It is my birthright."
The elders whispered amongst themselves some more. Finally, a third elder, a female, stood up and said:
"You are the son of the Goddess Lumoi and you have returned to your homeland."
Hilaral flinched slightly and inquired:
"How did you..."
The female elder smiled and answered:
"There are some ruins, below the waters. They have remained strangely intact, and they tell of the son of an Atlantean and the Goddess Lumoi. How he left, and the events that transpired afterwards..."
She then continued and stated:
"We will help you in this "Great War" ".
Hilaral gasped and muttered:
"Well, that was easy."
The female elder smiled and said:
"My name is Elandra. Let us celebrate."
Hilaral was a bit rusty on social skills, but the Atlanteans would have it no other way. They celebrated all day. Hilaral was a bit unnerved by Elandra, and did his best to stay away from her.
As it were, even the sons of gods could feel...
However, the jubilee was not to last...
Umbroi suspected that the Atlanteans would be loathe to join his cause again, so he went for the next best thing...
It spread like wildfire...
It consumed the minds of all that it touched...
It was relentless...
In the span of several days, Psyocron spread through Atlantis. The mysterious virus had the ability to take over minds. If Umbroi could not have them for himself, he would get them to kill each other...
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Meanwhile...
Both Gods have been busy sending out emissaries to each of the developing planets in which intelligent life has been confirmed...
((You all get to write about the emissaries that arrive, deciding whether you will fight for Good, Evil, or some twisted combination of both or neither even.  ))
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If you supposedly care about someone, then don't push them out of your life. Acting like you're not doing it doesn't exempt you from what I just said. - Winterfate
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enamelity
Known Hero
You Misunderestimated Me
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posted February 08, 2009 06:18 AM |
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THE NORTH
"I have seen the light! I have seen Lumoi! The Ascension will come to those who follow the light! The Sap-Trees and Lumoi, our guide, await us!"
A surprisingly large number of squirrels have heeded the call of Io'mul, an old squirrel claiming to be the prophet of the new goddess Lumoi, the Guide to the Trees. They spread their message of peace and Ascension for the faithful throughout the northern realm, and the common people rally behind Io'mul and Lumoi.
Meanwhile, the government has become increasingly influential, clamping down on privacy rights because of 'suspected criminal activities' and increasingly turning to cruelty and despotism. Who is behind all this tyranny? Iorb'mu, self-appointed Lord of the Squirrel Realms. The voices of something whisper constantly in his mind (Umbroi), advising him on the 'best' course of action. Iorb'mu is a paranoid, insane ruler, feared by everyone and trusted by no one. Recently, the voices have convinced him that Iomul and his new religion could threaten Iorb'mu's power; he has begun instituting harsh penalties for known Lumoi-worshippers.
It is only a matter of time before the matter is settled - violently.
THE SOUTH
"Quiet! Quiet down! This Meeting of the Warriors, the first of its kind, has now begun!" The room becomes silent. The leader of the southern realms - Io'mul - has called together all the greatest warriors of the land for an unprecendented meeting. This has never happened before; the news must be extremely important.
"I bring great news to all the squirrels of the land: gods still exist." The room falls into shocked silence. Gods? What gods would subject the squirrels to such hardships that they must fight for their lives every day?
"The sap-trees, it is true, are gone. But one other exists, a goddess without form, only essence: Lumoi. Her powers were weak before; she was powerless to help us. But her strength grows, and she will need our support in the conflict ahead."
The warriors react with mutterings and grumbles: "Conflict? What conflict? Maybe he meant the creatures of the deep snow... no, that can't be, he said coming conflict, and the creatures have been attacking since before your grandfather was born..."
"Silence! It is not yet time for us to know what conflict Lumoi needs us for, but regardless, the words of such a goddess must be trusted. She will not let the corruption into her heart, as the sap-trees did so long ago; she will never abandon us."
Meanwhile, in a village along the very edge of squirrel territory...
"Why do we fight the deep-snow creatures? They are strong, they are powerful, all things we respect in one of our own kinsmen. Why should we not do the same for other beings? A person is a person, no matter what form it wears. Umbroi has shown me this, and he is all-knowing and all-powerful."
Iorb'mu is a charismatic speaker; many of the villagers listen closely to his words. He's right, they think, He's a wise one.
"See the grace and power in their forms, the intelligence hiding in their eyes; they are majestic beings, they are allies, not enemies. It is our leaders who keep us from the truth, so that they may hoard their own power, but we who fight and live here on the border with the deep-snow beings are better people than those fat, spoiled, soft squirrel-imposters at the center. We must overcome our oppressors, so that we may communicate with the snow-beings. We have much to learn from each other."
Who gave him that speech, carefully designed to appeal to the basic self-motivation of the crowd? Umbroi, of course.
A confrontation is coming. And it won't be lacking for blood.
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Oscarius
Famous Hero
*sleepy*
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posted February 08, 2009 09:43 AM |
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The things had their first encounter with a terrible thing.... failure.
Their tries to get out of the great ocean failed miserably and as they had driven every species in the sea to near extinction they got no food, except for eachother. However it couldn't stay that way for long, that's when the most terrible thing happened. Before that moment all the things had been mindless eating machines, focused on eating and reproducing. Now some entities evoled a feral kind of intelligence.
Before that however the numbers of these beasts dwindled, only a quarter of the original numbers existed when the brains evolved. They were still ten-thousands of them.
These changes was really systematic, one in each 1000 evolved, taking control of the other 999. After all beasts had been assigned a leader, they went to sleep. Borrowing into the bottom of the sea. The plauge to the planet was halted, for now.
Here they would sleep in giant blobs, evolving, a thousand in numbers and each of them consisting of five "leaders" with their "subjects". However only one of the leaders in each blob would live to see daylight again. Once a year the chosen leader and his subject would wake up and devour one of the "hosts". It would then continue to sleep and evolve a year more. After five years the leaders would brake free of the ground and feed once more, ready for all that this world could throw at them.
Five years of respite, then the slaughter would start again.
Five years for the other things to evolve unknowing of the danger below.
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Need moar avatars!
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted February 08, 2009 05:25 PM |
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Much, much time has passed since that first, devastating plague wiped out nineteen in twenty of the hut-dwelling who-are-us and several entire species of lesser amphibianoid.
Now the Huarus are hut-dwellers no longer, but city dwellers, in massive, fountain-filled metropolises. These are descended from those individuals who, through isolation, luck, or latent resistance, managed to survive that first terrible plague. Their civilization is reaching the point that, rather than existing in secluded pockets of the world, they are beginning to overrun it, driving the lesser inhabitants of the planet to adapt to their constructs or go extinct. They are even developing space flight capabilities, but at this point it is not yet advanced enough to make a difference.
As of yet, however, they have not drawn the attention of either Lumoi or Umbroi.
The Huarus have evolved somewhat since the dark days of the plague—they are taller, almost five feet in some individuals, and their skin has developed to the point that they no longer must live in the water as much as near it, though technology is such that many still do—but in tubs and filtered pools rather than swamp water.
Besides this, a result of modern society having arisen from a small clutch of survivors is that the culture of the Huarus has developed a few…quirks.
Water purity is of the utmost importance. Though no individuals currently living were alive during the plague, their ancestors’ collective paranoia was successfully conveyed to their offspring, and the offspring of their offspring, etc., to the point where it has become so thoroughly entrenched in their society that the only way to dislodge it would be to eradicate the entire race. Only recently have they as a species begun to discover that perfectly pure, distilled water with nothing added is not the best way to go about it, but their racial leanings mean that advancements in that area are going very slowly.
Being descended from a mix of remnant tribes that had to learn to band together or perish, the society as a whole is very tolerant of even the more extreme eccentricities, a fact that may serve the Huarus in later centuries…time will tell. Ironically, they are also very tradition-bound, though with the upswing of technology that is slowly changing.
Another result of being descended from several different tribes (often with conflicting beliefs) is that the mythological background of the Huarus is incredibly convoluted: with the exception of those mythological figures born from their trials with the plague, most folktales and legends were mish-mashed together from at least two different backgrounds, and usually three or more, wherever similarities existed. This lead to the existence of a VERY wide and colorful range of religions, cults, and belief systems in the modern world. Only one of them will have a great deal of say in the next big drama to unfold on this planet, but that is a little ways off, still.
The first act of this drama, as a matter of fact, takes its first few steps in the political scene, where the next Tul-usser—the overseer of technological advancements in the Huarus’ tri-pointed oligarchy—is being appointed…
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